Trial and Execution
by chuckesleaze
Summary: "What better way to shame the rebels? To show them their unity was futile? To use their fight against them? I remove the finely printed list of the rebellion's adolescent traitors from the folder across my lap, peering once again at those youth who have defied and those who subsequently will die."
1. Pleading Guilty

The warm feeling of triumph heats my core and melts my mask of daunting indifference into a satisfactory smirk as the ropes tighten around the lanky necks of the last group of rebel leaders. And with their spirits go any lasting hope of freedom from the Capitol's iron grip. From MY iron grip. The only problem that still stands is a small one; yet, consequently it too will be terminated.

The rebels, those shameful cowards, couldn't do their dirty work alone. Oh, no. It seems they've sent their children in to fight their battles; a few healers, spies, even some of their youth were sent to the front lines. Foul, despicable creatures, those rebels. Allowing their children to behave in such a manner, teaching them to maim and destroy, using them to fight in a futile war. However, I could learn a thing or two from their actions. Putting the young straight to imminent death was inhumane, but I have found a way around this.

The children of the Districts and their parents were so willing fight together against a common "evil." And now, they will do it once more; this time against the evil that is their spirit, their undividedness, and ultimately their rebellion. With the elders dead, the children will battle on. It was a stroke of genius. What better way to shame the rebels? To show them their unity was futile? To use their fight against them? This will destroy them from the inside out. The generation of defiant offspring will be put to an end; and if all goes well, each year after that, another group will perish to remind Panem of what will come from their dissent. Using children to solve differences may seem barbaric, but what does one expect from those of the Districts? I am merely borrowing their tactic of war. I remove the finely printed list of the rebellion's adolescent traitors from the folder across my lap, peering once again at those youth who have defied and those who subsequently will die. A camera angles towards my face as I prepare to announce my burst of freedom-squelching innovation. My message is more than clear; this is not a mere punishment for those directly involved in the attempted revolution. It extends to every hopeful spirit in the hills, forests and oceans of Panem. The message is this: tamper with the Capitol, and we'll do more than hurt you. We will hurt your children.

**After this story being deleted and a long hiatus, I've finally decided to begin this story again. This is my favorite idea for Fanfiction so far, and I refuse to give it up. This is not just an SYOT, this is the story of the rebellion, Panem and The Hunger Games as a whole. It is going to show the development of nearly every aspect of the Games we know and how it came to be I'm using all of the same characters and uploading all of the chapters in order as they regain popularity. I would appreciate any extra readers you can bring to this story, as this is going to be my best yet and I need all the hype I can get!**

**District One:**

Male: Miguel Stone; 17; Famed soldier known for single-handedly taking out an enemy tank.

Female: Chaotic Nightingale; 18; Well-known spy that used her father's high-ranking position to retain information for rebel use.

**District Two:**

Male: Shiloh Riverson; 18; Young troop commander.

Female: Evey Parker; 16; Highly trained rebel assassin.

**District Three:**

Male: Connor Fuse; 18; Head of bomb development and chemical warfare.

Female: Kindle Southern; 14; Head of evacuation squad.

**District Four:**

Male: Leander Murphy; 15; Admirable soldier in water-based combat.

Female: Audree Harbor; 16; Head of rebel finances.

**District Five:**

Male: Chase Thorne; 17; Computer information infiltrator.

Female: Dalency Faines; 17; Leading front-line nurse.

**District Six:**

Male: Luca Sparrow; 18; Head of military transport.

Female: Emilia Burk; 17; Leading hover-craft pilot and rebel strategist

**District Seven:**

Male: Cade Hunter; 18; Admirable and choice foot soldier.

Female: Teagan Mint; 17; Former rebel informant, captured and forced to suffer an innovative form of torment.

**District Eight:**

Male: Richard Fields; 17; Rebel motivational speaker and publicist.

Female: Freya Lilac; 12; daughter of District 8's rebel army general.

**District Nine:**

Male: Rollin Aberdale; 17; Head of rebel recruitment.

Female: Melody Capulet; 15; Daughter of major rebel leader.

**District Ten:**

Male: Carter Reed; 17; Head of cavalry.

Female: Autumn Garner; 15; Valuable rebel decoy and manipulative operator.

**District Eleven:**

Male: Walker Lawrenson; 15; Favored rebel camouflage artist.

Female: Ariel Potts; 16; An esteemed soldier in combat, frequently serving in the front lines.

**District Twelve:**

Male: Troy Kholer; 16; Rebel code breaker.

Female: Asher Bruman; 13; Supervisor of captured Capitol soldiers.


	2. The Executioner

**Achilles Heavensbee**

_Don't bite the hand that feeds, Heavensbee._

That's what he said to me as they threw my broken body into this godforsaken cell. The hand that feeds? I scoff at the very thought. President Nero gave me nothing; except for a cause.

It's hard to believe that mere months ago, I was sharing drinks with the wretched man atop his lavish mansion, the lights of our country glistening below us.

I was the Vice President, you know.

But even then, it was just a façade. The best way to destroy something is to lead it into the ground. No one assumed one who reaped such benefits of the District's enslavement would hold such a part in bringing the oppressed to justice.

Still, here I sit. A leader of a shining country to a leader of a revolution; and now it seems I've led nothing but millions to their graves.

Make that a million and twenty-three. They could have executed the children. The District's hopes would have been sufficiently squelched by that alone. But I suppose it wouldn't properly display the Capitol's power over them.

_Your lives are a game to us._

They fought for their children's freedom, but only revoked it in the end. The prospect of justice in a new generation is dead.

They could have simply killed me too. But why end it so quickly? This man fooled us; this man sought to destroy us. Why should he have something so simple as death?

So here I am. I was moved from my dank cell shortly after the Games were announced. I now sit in a blinding, white-washed room, with nothing in it but the chair I am chained to, the glaring television screen, and the set of elaborate controls before me. No one to talk to but the guards that stand as a reminder of what I have to do.

_You used these children as pawns before. Their lives were at stake when you pushed them into rebellion… what's the difference, now? We are merely playing the game you invented. And once again, you will be at the head._

_Don't consider yourself the executioner._

_Consider yourself the game-maker._

And I suppose that's exactly what I am. Twenty-four children, some I have met, some who have saved my life, some who I have come to love, will be forced into an arena. As punishment for their crimes against the Capitol, they will be forced to fight to the death while the entirety of Panem watches. And I will be at the front of it all. The controls in front of me can save or end a child's life. I can send everything from a sheath of arrows to a rain of fire. I could flood the earth or destroy a mountainside. I could send a feast or a pack of wolves. I can help or hurt any child on the screen before me that will televise the event; but in the end, I can only choose one. My public execution will take place following the victory. If I refuse, I am killed prematurely and the arena is detonated. No one would survive, and what lesson would that teach the District's about the one that was supposed to lead them so fearlessly? What choice do I have?

_And with these children, dies the rebellion._


	3. The Arrest

** Achilles Heavensbee**

I'm awoken from my nightmares by a surge of fire radiating from the back of my neck. I sit up with a start and jerk around as far as the chain around my waist will let me. One of the massive guards stands behind me, an evil smirk on his face and a taser in hand.

"Today's the day, Heavensbee," he sneers.

The day I've been dreading for what feels like a lifetime. The day twenty-four children will be sentenced to death, and forced to play a deadly game as a punishment for their crimes and as an intimidation tactic for their fellow country-men.

_A tribute, a payment for the price of protection._

So the "Tributes" are to be taken into custody before their respective Districts, prior to their being sent into the Arena. It will play over every television in Panem, to show the District's just who will be punished for their rebellion. Just a little something extra to make them suffer.

"The Reaping" they call it.

What it should be called is the beginning of the end.

I don't have time to catch my breath, let alone mentally prepare myself before the television in front of me bursts into a static frenzy. The gradually, the seal of Panem fills the screen, and I count down the seconds of guiltlessness left in my life until the children begin to file one by one to their deaths.

What I recognize as the heart of District One appears; and so it starts.

The very first child to have their fate so forcibly sealed is an inquisitive looking girl with a sea of burgundy hair by the name of Chaotic Nightingale. _Nightingale _rolls around in my head as I try to find the source of the name it seems I have heard so many times; and then I place it. Arrian Nightingale, the haughty and rather obnoxious mayor of District One was a man I had had the displeasure of meeting many times on Capitol business. I had heard his daughter's name only enough times to know that she was notorious for stealing valuable war information from right under her father's nose. She must be courageous as well as cunning to defy such an upbringing; but then again, I suppose I managed the same, and I don't have much to show for it. She stands in front of the Justice Building, scowling from behind her brilliant red mane. Her green eyes peer around in that way that makes you squirm, the way you just know she's planning something far beyond your comprehension.

The Peacekeeper beside Chaotic reads off the next name of District One's doomed; and it's none other than Tank-Buster Stone. His given name is Miguel, but he earned his nick-name after single-handedly taking out an enemy tank on the front lines of One. I can't help but give a little whoop at the memory, which is quickly silenced by another jolt from the guards. I attempt to focus my now fuzzy eyes at the television screen once more. Miguel's dark skin, closely-cropped hair and bulging muscles look intimidating on camera, but anyone who knows him know that's just a deceitful shell. Friendly to a fault and boisterous beyond compare, Miguel is more of a loyal dog than any other of the ferocious beasts he may resemble. Next to Chaotic they appear to be the perfect compliments; what one lacks, whether in smarts or size, the other easily makes up for.

The screen jumps to what must be District Two, but it is nearly impossible to tell through the rubble and destruction. Two was the epicenter of the war, supplying both a staggering number of soldiers, and, due to their proximity to the Capitol, a haggard battlefield. The lethal look of the girl called forward, Evey Parker, makes my chest tighten with the first twinge of guilt of what is sure to be many. We rebels had our fair share of flaws, I will be the first to admit; and one of our biggest being District Two's unethical use of children in combat. Of course a large portion of the army was made up of adolescents; but they served by choice. I was never enlightened on the details until the rebellion's end, when my captors used knowledge of Two's crooked methods against me. But now, I suppose this girl, whose empty eyes and scarred hands prove she was raised as more of a military drone than a human, will only be helped by her torment and training into the assassin she is today. The boy is one I know personally; Shiloh Riverson. At age 18, he was the youngest commander in the rebel army. Besides his pale skin and eyes, he is very similar to Miguel in looks and stature; yet you could not find a man on this earth more opposite. Some speculate that he's too evil to possibly fight for such a cause as freedom. Most of my comrades just assumed he was in it for the bloodshed, as an outlet for the rage he held, maybe even for the feeling of pure power. But, although cold and brutish, I knew Shiloh was just another thing the Capitol destroyed.

Before I can remember his story, District Three comes into picture; it's convicted "Tributes" to the nation already positioned on the erected stage. Small, 14 year old Kindle Southern stands, arms folded and brown eyes cast in a glare at the ground. As head of an war-zone evacuation squad, Kindle once drug my unconscious body from the blaze of a crashed hovercraft over District Seven; resulting in a jagged scar on the leg for me, and a hastily chopped head of flaming hair for her. I attempted apologizing for putting her through such, but after expecting a meek reply from the seemingly shy girl, I was put in my place with a gruff "Don't worry 'bout it." I came to know Ms. Southern not as the young, quiet persona she assumed, but as the quick and cunning little soldier she is. Murdering such a loveable, mischievous child who once saved my life will be impossibility; but the guard's grimace reminds me of my place. Kindle appears minuscule next to her counterpart, the surprisingly massive Connor Fuse. He looks to be nothing but a brute, but the fearsome scars that redden and pucker the skin along the side of his face hold note of his place in the rebellion. His raw muscle-power is exceeded only by his intellect. Connor Fuse could make an explosive out of a rock and a piece of ribbon if he thought about it long enough. He was the head of chemical warfare, so naturally I had met with him a few times; but he was too distant to get attached to. Surely his coldness is another fault of the war, one I will never come to learn.

With District Four comes Audree Harbor and Leander Murphy. Audree is a lanky girl, whose plain and pretty face doesn't much blend in with her fellow rebels. Yet she played just as important a role as any of her comrades. At 16 years old, she held the entire funding of the rebel army on her skinny shoulders. Since the District's money was earned from the Capitol, earning sufficient means was nearly impossible, without her help. Between raising the money and organizing its circulation throughout the army and its Districts, Audree did it nearly independently. There were plenty of other young rebels in Four that were much more worthy in terms of war action; but I hear she is to be charged with stealing as well as the standard treason. Leander is a dead-pan young man whose aloof manner might deter others, but of course was always a favorite of mine. On top of having a cunning sense of sarcasm, he was one of the finest young naval soldiers in the war. The Capitol taking to water for attacks was a cheap shot; yet District Four, particularly Leander, showed them just how much of a mistake it was. While a Capitol ship attacked, he would swim aboard and sabotage the engine, the cannons, the captain, just about anything it took to destroy their efforts.

The picture cuts to District Five, where the girl called forward is Dalency Faines, a strong, curly-haired girl with guts, resolve, and a healer's touch. As the best front-line nurse around, I don't doubt that she's treated half of the children she will soon face. She never helped me, thankfully, but I had watched her at work on a young boy who was trampled by a storm of Peacekeepers. Her raw determination, as well as her jaded mind-set makes her one to watch out for. Her District partner is Chase Thorne, the boy who has spent the past year of his life in the only the light of a computer screen. He was essential in most aspects of the rebellion, and practically headed every mission involving computer or electronic infiltration. I'd met him often, but nearly every time I merely nodded along and stared at the screen before him in a daze, pretending I understood exactly what it was he was doing. His cunning and logic exceeds most of the Tributes called before him, perhaps only outmatched by Connor Fuse. He still retains a healthy sense of sarcasm and humor, however, and stands on the stage with light in his green eyes and a smirk across his pale face.

Emelia Burk of District Six is one who is quite possibly more respected than even me in the rebellion. Smart, strategic and stormy, it's really no surprise, either. By the time she reached her age of 16, she had already led the rebel army on several aerial raids, missions, and battles. Her sharp face is twisted into her usual mix of anger and courage, yet she still stands cool and collected beneath the towering Peacekeepers. Luca Sparrow's name is called, a dedicated and somewhat severe young man that once transported me straight into the heart of a battle in Eleven. That was his job, military transport; and all though he was a little grim, he was a nice guy. You can't judge people by first impressions in the Districts; who knows what one has been through? Before being taken into custody in the Justice Building, Emelia and Luca turn to face each other, giving a strong and assuring handshake. While they said nothing to each other, their actions spoke volumes; a last little sign of a spark.

From District Seven comes the tall and beautiful Teagan Mint. I never met her personally, but I had heard she was an informant, who spread the initial word of rebellion about the Districts. The last I heard, she was found and captured, and no one has spoken of her since. In fact, I once mentioned her name in question around one of my men, and he did nothing but shiver. Something must be wrong with this young woman. Unfortunately, District Seven's boy is a familiar face. One would say Cade Hunter was nothing more than a common foot soldier, but those on the inside knew he was a favored one at that. His wiry frame and unruly hair doesn't make him look like anything but a normal adolescent, but the deep creases in his face and the hunted look in his eyes show he's been through much more. He is a soldier, through-and-through. Visiting the front-lines in more fights than could possibly be counted abolished any signs of normality from his personality; he was constantly moving, constantly battling, and not to mention a force to be reckoned with.

A tiny girl from District 8 has to be dragged onto the stage. With her tiny frame and big, teary, innocent eyes, she couldn't be more than twelve years old. I don't recognize her one bit, until I hear her name. Freya Lilac. The Lilacs were the leaders of District Eight's army, as well as influential figures in the rebellion as a whole. I had never known they had a daughter; they must have kept her hidden. This, along with her obvious disadvantages, made her a sitting target. My stomach lurches at the thought of this blubbering little girl, lost and confused as to why she has to suffer this fate. While the others had done nothing wrong to begin with, they had still defied and destroyed and murdered. This girl was truly innocent. The boy is called, and up steps the famous Rick Fields. While the other children fought with their weapons, this boy fought with his words and his wit. Too weak and soft-spoken to be a soldier, but to intelligent and influential to be completely left out. He was a frequent traveler to Districts as well as often broadcast throughout Panem when infiltration was possible, this boy turned his words into actions with his speeches and mediation.

From District Nine, a scene is caused when two males are believed to have been reaped, but it's quickly sorted out. To the most of the country, "Christopher Melchiov" was chosen, but to those who knew, it was the young Melody Capulet, the daughter of District Nine's leader who joined the rebellion after chopping off her blonde hair going under disguise as a smallish boy. When I had found her out, she used all but strangulation to get me not to breathe a word. Apparently, as the youngest of her family, she was not permitted to become a soldier. But, being the fiery little pistol is, she ran away, and did whatever she could to fight; even if it was to become a male. The true male was Rollin Aberdale, a young man I know very well. His piercing eyes seem to stare through through the camera, which, due to the fact one eye is a coal black while the other is a startling, sickly pale blue, is even more fearsome than it should be. Between his scruffy facial hair, thick brows, and wolfish grin, I suppose he is a lot scarier looking than he ought to be in general. As head of recruiting and training all of the new rebels, he is charismatic, charming, and personable. But he won't be an easy target because of it. His way with people shows something only few can see; his knack for scheming and manipulation.

A struggle to hold in my laughter as District Ten's own Autumn Garner, a girl with remarkably huge eyes and more blonde hair than she knows what to do with, spits at one Peacekeeper's feet and delivers a blow to the neck of another. She is dragged into the Justice Building, trashing and biting, before the boy's name can even be called. I suppose now that the rebellion is over, she's completely given up on her role as a decoy. I had met her enough times to call her as much of a friend as one could; although incredibly difficult to work with, as displayed in the Reapings, she was an incredibly valuable asset. Even before we officially recruited her, she was using her innocent looks along with her brilliant acting skills to distract Capitol officials and Peacekeepers into their ultimate demise. I once heard a story from a soldier who heard a group of Peacekeepers gathered around telling each other stories of "the Doll Girl," much as parents would caution their children with tales of a mythical monster who consumed those who misbehaved. Her District partner steps up nervously, much more passive than the Tribute before him, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. Carter Reed, the calm and wise boy who started a surprisingly successful cavalry unit that grew to travel throughout Districts, with him at the head. He was never a fighter, but was wise far beyond the years of most of his competitors.

Ariel Potts is chosen from District Eleven, a girl with a curly mane who easily towers above each Tribute thus far. She was the first to fall into battle and the last to come out each time. She's a quick thinker and has a solid compassion, but it rarely shows behind her domineering nature and feared fight. Compared to her, her District partner is nearly Freya Lilac; but still, Walker Lawrenson strides onto the stage without fear. I know for a fact he has not committed one crime in his young life. One of Eleven's commanders brought him to me after witnessing him with a bowl of crushed berries, painting a picture of war in the street. From then on, he was frequently called in and shipped around Panem as a camouflage artist. Against popular belief, those of the Districts took his job very seriously; although it was not expected from such a philosophical and light young boy. However, his concentration and observance made him a man easily capable of respect; and I suppose that is what now seals his fate.

Finally, the last of the Districts materializes on the screen, and I nearly breathe a sigh of relief before I realize it's not over yet. Asher Bruman, a minute thirteen year old with the typical dark hair and olive skin of Twelve tip-toes onto the stage, not one emotion crossing her face. This was normal for Asher. She was fully-grown by the time she hit ten years old; hardened beyond belief for a girl of her age. This edge was not helped by the fact she spent all of her time with criminals of war, their sole guard in the mines that made up their prison. The idea that a thirteen year old girl could instill fear into the hearts of Capitol soldiers was inconceivable until one met Asher. Troy Kholer steps up beside her; a boy whose personality would never reveal that he spent most of the war in front of a computer. Troy was the only reliable code-breaker in the army; as well as a good source of relief when a soldier spent too much time with one of the other adolescents in the ranks. Witty and charming, Troy does not seem to belong anywhere he is being sent lately.

Then, abruptly, the screen turns to black.

That's it.

The children of war come to fight another battle.

_**There you have all of the tributes of the 1**__**st**__** Hunger Games! I apologize if I spent more time on some than others. We will get to know all of the Tributes very closely and all will be revealed in time! But for now, since this is a very different story than what I'm used to, I've decided I'm going to try something new! **_

_**I am officially setting up a voting system for the Tributes. Votes will not decide the order of the deaths completely, but they will sway my opinions and decide who gets the most story-time, be it with character development, history, and extra plot in the Arena. You've got to know each of them a bit, and now it is time to cast your first votes! ALL OF THOSE WITH TRIBUTES MUST VOTE FOR THIS CHAPTER! None may be your own. If I don't get these initial votes, I will kill off your Tribute in the bloodbath. Judging on what you know of each character so far, cast your votes in the following format:**_

_**1. 25 points**_

_**2. 20 points**_

_**3. 15 points**_

_**4. 10 points**_

_**5. 5 points**_

_**I will not hold voting for every chapter, just this one is crucial to decide who I should focus and elaborate on as the story progresses. Remember, even though you are sending in votes, reviewing is still very much appreciated and will definitely inspire me to write this story faster! I am very excited to finally begin this story, and I'd love your ideas and input along the way!**_


	4. The Transport

**Chaotic Nightingale**

The dread in my gut and the handcuffs around my wrists do nothing to deter me from the feast before us. I try to resist, seeing is they are just fattening us up for slaughter, but eventually I give in to the sweet smell of the food. Food. The thing that sparked this whole damned war. If the Capitol had just given us one fourth of what they have, none of this would have happened. And now, they're using it to mock us; The _Hunger _Games? Clever. Truly.

Still, I won't complain. I won't give them what they want.

Even as a gorge myself, my eyes don't stray from the Peacekeepers that line the room. Put your guard down for one second, and they'll put a bullet through your brain.

I've seen it done too many times.

Miguel, however, doesn't seem to notice their glares. He's digging happily into his plate of chicken, humming a little tune with a stupid grin on his face. I immediately don't trust him; stupid people are dangerous. I sneer at him as he balances his spoon on the end of nose, giving me an expectant look before bursting into peals of laughter. I expect him to be put-off by my clear refusal to associate, but no such luck.

"What are you in for, pretty lady?" he says far louder than necessary.

"Don't call me pretty lady," I snap. I'd be happy to return to scarfing down my food and lurking on the guards, but the way Miguel's eyebrows raise make him look like a confused little puppy. Besides, I like to know my competition. Finding out information is my job.

"Spying," I say quickly, skirting over any details, "What about you?"

He furrows his brow, biting into another chicken leg.

"Not really sure. I suppose none of us really did much of anything."

I hate to say it, but the man is right. Smirking, I raise my own piece of chicken towards Miguel, as friendly a gesture as I can muster. Laughing that booming laugh, he raises his back and with a jerk of his wrist tosses it towards one of the Peacekeepers on the other side of the room.

"Sorry," he says with a grin to the guard, who does nothing but gape, "Must have slipped."

It's been so long since I've laughed, I have a hard time choking it out. But it comes anyways, and I feel nice for a change. I can't say I dislike Miguel; but I promise myself I won't trust him.

**Shiloh Riverson**

This won't be my first visit to the Capitol.

My first trip was the reason I'm here in the first place.

Killing children is okay when it's by the Capitol's hands. Starving them, over-working them.

Refusing them medicine.

But bombing a school of Capitol children? Oh, no, Shiloh. You took it too far. I didn't see anything wrong with it. In the dancing flames, I saw my family. My friends. My District. The things the Capitol destroyed so long ago. Instead of the foreign children's screams, I hear theirs. And I regret nothing.

The school contained President Nero's daughter. When I found this out, I laughed. An eye for an eye. But it looks like murdering the only thing I had left wasn't enough for him. Now, I find myself facing death once again. But the score must be settled.

I will win.

And I will destroy the Capitol if it's the last thing I ever do.

"Mr. Riverson, you are to report to the dining car at once." A voice growls from behind the door.

I creep up and open the door just hard enough to cause the guard to stumble to the ground, clutching his already bloodied nose in his hands.

"Yes, sir," I simper, stepping over his fallen body.

I will destroy them; even if it has to be done one at a time.

**Connor Fuse**

I feel the eyes trained on my face before I see them. Turning my hard glare upwards, locking onto little Kindle Southern, who is gawking away.

"Can I help you?" I grumble, probably ruder than I should be.

"No," Kindle snaps back just as fast, "I was just looking at Peacekeeper behind you."

I jerk around to find behind me is one of the few places a Peacekeeper _isn't._ Looking back, Kindle grins sheepishly and takes another roll from her plate.

I'm not an idiot. Obviously. I know what she's up to.

"Checking out my scar, kid?"

"Maybe," she says, taking quick sips of water, "Only if you aren't as scary as it makes you look."

On a good day, I would've laughed. But today is most certainly not one of those. Running my finger along the familiar crinkled burns that line my jaw, the memory of its origin makes my stomach drop. I toss down my fork and sit back; repressing the bad thoughts and turning my focus to fantasizing of all the ways I could blow up this damn train. It wouldn't be hard, considering I'd already unlocked the handcuffs and located the engine within this first twenty minutes aboard. But the Peacekeepers have probably been warned about me. Besides, I don't really care where I'm headed. I probably deserve whatever fate they hand me.

**Leander Murphy**

** "**Got any Two's?" Audree asks between bites of her meal.

I look down at the pile of cards the guards reluctantly gave us in my hands. Sure enough, a two lies right in the center.

"Nope. Go fish."

I shove the card up my sleeve in case it comes in handy later.

"Leander. You took a two from me four plays ago. Give it here," she presses.

Growing up in District Four, this is about the only card game they teach you. That would give us each an equal advantage. But with me sneaking cards around at every turn and Audree keeping perfect track, it hasn't been going as smoothly as it should.

I toss the cards on the table in front of her.

"Check em'. I quit. But this is the only game I'll be losing to you," I say with a wink.

Audree's face pales. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. But it's true. Skinny, stumbling little Audree isn't going to make it very far in this Game. This isn't about math and numbers; it's about survival. Something I've had to do all of my life, not to mention the last year.

And frankly, what do I have to lose?

**Dalency Faines**

Sure enough, after watching the recap of all the District's Reapings, nearly half of them are only living from my efforts.

The beefy boy from One. The self-righteous girl from Six. That jittery, wired kid from Seven. And just about everyone from Nine on.

And now, by another twist of fate it seems their lives are back in my hands.

And as we've all seen, it's far easier to destroy something than it is to fix it.

People expect nurses to be selfless, or at the least, kind. But what they don't realize is in everything we do, we are exposed to the exact opposite. All I have seen throughout this war is cruelty and selfishness, and the victims that fall from it.

No one on this earth is good.

And I am no exception.

**Luca Sparrow**

"Loosen up, Sparrow!" Emelia laughs from the seat across from me.

She's had three glasses of wine too many, and is starting to lose all the respect she's commandeered from me in the past year; as well as her clothes.

"What happened to the domineering Emelia Burke? Done with all your power now that it's biting you in the ass?" I bark in response.

"I've spent the last year and a half of my life working. Working, working working," she slurs, "Now, I think I deserve to blow off some steam. I might be dead in a matter of weeks, anyways. You too, Luc. So un-tuck your britches and have yourself a drink."

It takes everything in me not to fling the table before me across the room. Emelia Burke, giving up? That's unheard of. And if she wanted to, why does she have to choose now? Doesn't she realize this is no time? That things may be over in the Districts, but for us, they haven't even begun?

I storm out of the car and slam the door behind me, the cuffs around my wrists rattling with the force.

Damn Emelia. If she wants to call it quits now, that's fine. She's not the only one who can lead a person into battle. And she's coming with me whether she likes it or not.

**Teagan Mint**

"Don't be scared, pretty girl," says a lardy Peacekeeper from across the room. His mouth stretches into a vile grin as he jerks his head back to his buddies, who jeer on in approval, "Speak up."

Three hours in, and I've already had enough of this. I grab a dish of pepper from the table and snatch up a fistful. Striding over to the Peacekeeper, still in hysterics from his _brilliant _jab, I unfurl my hand, holding his glare with one of my own as I blow the granules directly into his empty eyes. A feel a jerk from behind as he grabs the back of my neck, and I feel myself falling as one kicks the insides of my shins. I'm not scared. If anything, I'm proud. Besides, what are they going to do to me that they haven't already done?

Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain, and the world goes black.

"_Hello, Miss Mint."_

_ My eyes peel open, unaccustomed to the blinding light of the room I am in, since I've spent who knows how long in a dingy cell. _

_ "You may be wondering where you are, Miss Mint. While I can assure you your location doesn't matter, what will happen to you in this room is of the utmost importance."_

_ After a few blinks, I see who I am facing. A man in a cloak as brilliant a white as the rest of the room. He snaps gloves onto his hands while he examines a tray of evil-looking tools, surely meant just for me. There is a tag pinned to his lapel, although I can't quite make it out through my blurred vision._

_ "You, Miss Mint, are a traitor. Whether you choose to accept this or not, it is purely fact. You are an informant. Spreading words of evil throughout the Districts, fueling a deadly battle in which your victory is impossibility. You caught. You were tried. And now, you will be punished. That's where I come in."_

_ I struggle to lash out, but I'm powerless against the restraints holding back every limb. After minutes of trying, the man laughs and I slump down, defeated. _

_ "President Nero has asked me to come up with something special for you. It took weeks to find something suitable, but I believe with this I have struck genius."_

_ He snatches up a sharp-edged gadget from the table. _

"_This'll do," he mutters, bringing it closer to his eyes from inspection._

_ "I'd say so. Just a little closer and it should to the job," I sneer. _

_ He does nothing but laugh._

_ "So there's that infamous mouth," he chuckles, "The one that seals your fate. Don't worry; it won't trouble you for long."_

_ He shines the bladed object on his pristine coat, right next to the pin, which I can now read plainly._

_ Dr. Avox._

When I wake up on the fluffy Capitol bed, I can still taste the blood in my mouth.

**Freya Lilac**

I have never been punished. For four years I lived in the woods, in a little cabin with my grandmother. She never punished me. I was never even scolded. I did nothing but pick the flowers and sing with the birds.

My parents said I needed to leave. Just for a little vacation. Just a little fun. I was to go stay with Grandma Clarice in a lovely little house in the woods.

_Just for a little while,_ my mother said with a kiss on my cheek.

And I believed her. I believed I would be gone for just a little while, and then I would come home.

Instead, I was snatched from the cabin I had called my home in the middle of the night. I was thrown into a hovercraft and back to the heart of District 8.

_Is this it, _I thought, _am I finally coming home?_

I should've known not. Why would my parents steal me away? Why would they hurt me? Why would they have a hovercraft? _Where were they?_

Only one person would've done this. And I should've known then. But I was confused.

Finally, I saw my mother emerge from the Justice Building of the town center. After four years, she still looked the same.

_ Momma! _I screamed.

My father came out after her, his cheeks still rosy as I remembered, but with the old spark gone from his eyes.

_Dad!_

They made eye contact with me. I was waving frantically, nearly throwing myself onto the stage. A tear rolled down my father's face. My mother blew me a kiss.

Then a Peacekeeper's bullet sailed straight through their brains.

I woke up with my grandmother hovering over me, laying a cold rag on my forehead. I remembered I was not in my home immediately. I remembered what happened. And then I screamed; I screamed so I could barely hear what my grandmother was telling me.

_A rebellion?_

_ My parents; leaders?_

_ A war?_

I had no idea. And now I'm taking the blame.

**Melody Capulet**

"Take a bath, dirty kid," the Peacekeeper says as he slams my room door shut.

I kick the frame in response.

And once more for good measure.

The hinges rattle and a good sized scuff is left on the surface.

"Hey!" he bellows "That's mahogany, little girl, worth more than anything you've touched in your life!"

"So get your fat ass in here and make me stop!" I shout, pushing a chair from the corner firmly in place under the door's handle, removing any chance of him entering. One more kick to the door, and I should set this moron off.

_Thunk!_

"Alright, you little-" he grunts, rattling the handle and thumping against the door to no avail.

"Come on, bud, put your back in it," I snort.

His thrashing continues.

"Yeah come on, that's the spirit," my taunting continues.

He gives another yell and hurls himself at the door with all his hulking might, bursting into the room and splintering the chair to pieces.

"Hey," I remark, my usual monotone replaced with mock shock, "That is _mahogany!"_

**Autumn Garner**

They finally let me out of my room, nudging me into a massive dining car filled with more food than I've probably eaten all year. I can't stuff myself in peace, though; Peacekeepers line the room, and one is ordered to sit in the chair next to me at all times.

He shoots me quick, worried glances here and there, but doesn't dare look me in the eyes. Smart guy.

But still, he's a Peacekeeper. And I think it's been proven I have a way with those; and today is no exception.

I nudge my chair closer to him and give a shy smile at the ground.

He scoots away.

I try again.

He scoots further.

I look up at him, smile quickly, and then glance back down sheepishly.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," I whisper, hiding shyly behind my mess of blonde hair.

What happens next is so familiar. He looks into my eyes.

Then his chin softens. The eyes follow. He looks for a second, just a second that he may be falling into my trap. But just before his lip quivers with pity, I laugh. A loud, boisterous laugh that doesn't sound as if it could come from a girl my size.

"You weren't really gonna fall for that, were you? You're even dumber than the rest!"

His mouth hangs agape, probably less out of disbelief of my actions than shock that he nearly fell onto the same path so many of his comrades died on.

"You know what would've happened if I weren't locked up right now, buddy?" I ask, batting my big blue eyes in an imitation of the innocence I'm believed to possess.

He growls something, but instead of responding I snatch up a skinned apple from the table and extend it delicately towards him, making sure to hold his gaze as I unfurl my fingers and force them back in, sending spurts of juice and crushed apple flying onto his lap.

The fear in his eyes isn't as subtle as he tries to make it.

"You know how many dumbass Peacekeepers have let me do that to their skulls? Don't think you're safe just because you think I'm finally going to get what's coming to me. I'll do it to all those dumb grunts in this damn arena, then I'll come home and I'll do it to you," I finish with a smirk.

He's not as angry as I'd like him to be.

So I spit in onto his lapel.

With that, he stands up and presses a familiar looking gadget to my neck.

The electricity scalds through my veins;but I'm used to this.

"It's gonna take more than that, pal o' mine," I laugh shakily, not completely unaffected by the volts.

"It's gonna take more than that to break the Doll Girl!"

**Ariel Potts**

When I was little, what feels like ages ago, I used to work in the fields with my brothers. Six of them; one of me. The gangly, dirty little girl they could never seem to get rid of. They would try and shake me off, but I soon caught up. They tried picking fights, but it wasn't long until I could take them. And after a little while of that, it was only a matter of years before I towered above them, and could out-cuss, fight or spit any of them.

I felt like that during the war. Like I was the underdog who rose above. Like no matter what short-comings I had been through before, I could become something great. I felt like I was doing something _good._

But I murdered. I took so many lives. And I did it without looking back.

Now I'm back to where I started. I see myself for what I really am. And I realize that I am the under-dog. I have more short-comings than I can count. I am not anything great. And I am _definitely _not good.

**Asher Bruman**

_Ring around the rosy, a pocket full of posy…_

The words ring over and over in my head and I'm not sure why. I've never had any use for such a song.

I've never been a child.

Raising myself on the streets. Forced down into the breakers and mines by age nine.

And people are surprised I'm the way I am.

I've always been doing the dirty work.

_Oh, those bloodthirsty captives? Just leave them with Asher, she'll teach them right._

And I did.

Only because no one ever taught me.

_Ashes, ashes, we all fall down._

**The first real chapter! I'm going to have four pre-Games chapters, in which your characters will each get two sections, and then we will begin! I know some characters may seem very flat and one-sided, but remember, this is your first introduction. Every layer will be peeled back in time **** I won't have any voting for this chapter, but I'd still love to hear your reviews! I also would love some ideas for what you want to happen in the arena character-wise, things like plot twists, development, and allies for the Tributes. I have a basic plot-line planned out for each of your characters, but your ideas and input are always welcome! **


	5. The Procession

**Miguel Stone**

I knew we were in for it when we lost the war.

I knew we'd be in trouble when they announced the punishment.

I knew I'd be done for when they called out my name.

But this? I don't think any of us expected this.

I may not be the smartest man, but I can tell right from wrong.

And this is most definitely wrong.

**Evey Parker**

I'm used to chains. I could even say I like them. They're one the few things I find stable in my life. They never let you go. They prevent others from taking you. And their firm grip and cool metallic feel is something you never forget.

They represent everything I have lacked in my past.

But right now they do not bring me familiar comfort. They bring pain, distress and humiliation. And those things still get to me, no matter how often I have endured them.

I never wanted to be what I have become. It's taken me forever to even trace how I've gotten to this point. I can remember bits and pieces; my name, my age, my District. The rest was lost somewhere between the brainwashing and the brutal torment.

But I know where I am now; once again forced to murder.

The chariot lurches forward.

**Kindle Southern**

We were all assigned a strange Capitol citizen, stuffed into strange costumes, and chained up to a strange chariot for strange reasons we still didn't understand.

But now we do.

I'm looking down at the over-exaggerated, white military suit I've been forced into when a feel a sharp pain hit my temple. An apple rolls across my pointy shoe. I stare at it for a moment, trying to register what has happened.

I look up to find the source, only to get a face full of red.

I wipe my eyes and blink rapidly, mouth hung open in disbelief. My tongue grazes over my bottom lip. Tomato? I turn to Connor, who is chained at the waist beside me, for some sort of explanation, some sort of comfort, even though I'm sure he won't give me it.

I'm right. As soon turn I go to speak, a cup of who knows what is thrown, splashing across his scarred face.

I keep my head down, blinking back tears. I don't often cry, but today, I want to. Because the suffering has only begun.

**Audree Harbor**

I'm at an obvious disadvantage. I'm not a talented code breaker. No pilot or sailor. I've never even shot a gun. So I have to work with what I have.

Which is where I'm lacking.

I take a quick look around before the chariot I'm chained to lurches forward to goodness knows what. Next to me in Leander Murphy, so well-known a killer they call him a sea monster. Two chariots behind me is Emelia Burke, who I met once or twice and watched drill the base of her gun into a Peacekeeper's skull. Even further back is Cade Hunter from Seven, who I was in charge of keeping an eye on in a battle in Four when he was thrashing with hurt and rage after the death of his brother.

Suddenly, I feel even less confident.

I can feel my face grow hot, only to be extinguished by the cool rush of air that grazes my cheeks as our chariot bursts onto the square.

And then I fade to black.

**Chase Thorne**

Taking away our freedom isn't enough. Killing our families and friends isn't enough. Killing _us _isn't enough. They have to play with us, first. We've always been their little toys.

I'm chained at the waist to a big chariot, awaiting the mockery and abuse the crowd of creepy Capitolites is sure to give us. It could be worse, I suppose. The infamous Autumn Garner is shackled so that she is forced to crouch hands and feet, that and her tangled mane making her look more animal than human. But I guess that is the point they're making with all of us.

By the time our chariot booms onto the paved street, the crowd is in what can only be described as a full-blown riot. Food, garbage, and hell knows what else is flying through the air, striking each Tribute as the throwers scream with everything from rage to glee. The girl from Four was knocked out with a rock as soon as she went on and is now splayed out, her long arms and brown hair spilling over the side of her chariot. Those in the crowd go wild. I can't help but smirk.

Who's the animal now?

**Emelia Burke**

"Nine o'clock. Up," Luca grunts from beside me.

I duck just in time to avoid a broken boot, aimed straight for my temple.

"Jump," I barely have time to breathe back as a mysterious liquid goes skittering across the floor of the chariot.

"Shit," he grumbles, unable to avoid the muck.

A blue-haired man in front throws his head back and cackles at the sight. I narrow my eyes and kick the cup back in his direction. Do they honestly find this _funny_?

Luca doesn't even have time to warn me of the next shoe that comes flying towards me, and I'm knocked to the ground with the force. I try to stand up, but I feel the chain around my waist tighten, pinning me against the floor.

Their message is clear.

Stand up to us, and we'll knock you down.

**Cade Hunter**

They're _mocking _us. They're destroying the last of our pride with what little Capitol "culture" they have. They have to let everyone know they own us right until the last moment of our lives. We look like idiots in our over-the-top military jumpsuits, chained up for their little "Victory Parade." The Capitol makes poor attempts to beautify everything; and not just their grotesque faces. They sugar-coat their grip on the Districts too.

_Twelve Districts rebelled in the country that fed them, cared for them, and loved them._

But I'm not going to spend much time thinking about it. When you think about things, stop surviving and start living. And that's too much for me to bear; especially since I could stop breathing all together in a matter of days.

I've managed to avoid most of the objects flung my way, but the words are hard to avoid.

_District rats._

_ Rebel bastards._

_ Pussy fighters._

Before I can stop myself, I realize two can play at this game.

**Rick Fields**

The boy from Seven is screaming curses to the crowd, as if he's helping. The only thing he's succeeded in doing is getting a face-full of mud from an orange-skinned lady and the chains around his waist tightened. Fighting isn't always the answer; I'd know this more than anyone.

We can't all be warriors, but we can, and should, all stand for a cause. Even if it's in the most peaceful display of civil disobedience. I never fought with anything but words and encouragement in the war. Even now, as I'm dressed and shackled to be mocked and humiliated, I keep a bright face.

I'm still standing for my cause.

I will not let a single rebel with even the slightest spark of fight left in them lose even a drop of hope.

Even as pieces of garbage pelt my body from every direction.

If the spirit of revolution cannot be broken by bullets and bricks, it cannot be broken by a paper wad.

**Rollin Aberdale**

I am a coward.

Melody Capulet, a fifteen year old girl, is practically throwing herself at the screaming freaks in the crowd, spitting both insults and quite literally. And I am, once again, refusing to fight.

In fact, I might be on the Capitol's side. Maybe I'm giving them what they want.

But it doesn't matter now; the fight is over. There's no need to stand up to them now. Call me a fake, but it's plain to see they own us once again. It's no longer about unity and assertiveness. To play this game they've made for us, we have to sink to their level. And I'm no stranger to that. We have to play dirty.

I stretch out my toothy smile and wave my big hands until I'm all but kissing the audience's asses. And compared to the treatment of the others, they love it. Not one thing has been chucked at my head; instead, they look on curiously, some with silent approval. A few even dare to call my name.

Melody glares from beside me and sends one of her infamous loogies right on the tip of my shoe. It turn, I stoop down and give her a big ol' kiss on the cheek. The crowd chortles on, laughing in assent.

I am a coward, but it doesn't matter anymore. Some of these kids have their fight and weapons. But I'm going to play a different way.

**Carter Reed**

Horses make much better people than humans.

They aren't cruel or hurtful. They listen when you need it. And not one horse has ever thrown a high heel at me.

Speaking of which, I dodge another and return to patting the beautiful brown mare that guides our chariot. Her tail flick and mane whips with contentment. What I wouldn't give to jump on her back and ride off, far away from here.

Sighing, I remember how much of an impossiblity that is. Even if I could manage to unchain myself, I'd be caught and shot before I could even loosen the mare's bridle. I duck just in time to avoid what looks like some sort of pan, but the thrower still gives a whoop when it smacks Autumn in the side.

The items being thrown are all meant for her, I know. She's single-handedly killed more Peacekeepers than half of the other Tributes put together. I watched her do it once. One of her simpler tricks, but still gruesome. Clutching a not-so broken arm, tears welling in her big blue eyes, and just as a Peacekeeper stooped down to help her-

I shut my eyes tight and try to shake out the memory. But when that one fades, more and more pop up in my head, until the Peacekeepers start looking an awful lot like myself.

I open my eyes and resume petting the horse, trying my hardest at looking like I don't much care at all.

**Walker Lawrenson**

Yellows, oranges, greens. Blues and purples. Red. Back home, colors weren't so easy to come by; days of gathering enough fruits and berries, days of squeezing out their juices, days when your stomach felt empty, but your heart would feel emptier without your passion. Days would go by and you still wouldn't have enough makeshift paint, and what you did have you'd have to layer on to form any sort of brightness.

But here, these people look like they are made of color. They bathe with _real _paint nightly and dry off with bits of rainbow. I've never seen a brighter blue of a deeper red. My eye catches on one familiar looking orange, soft and subdued, when I realize it's sailing directly towards my face.

Shit. I wipe bits of mushy orange off my face while I remember where I am and try to piece together exactly _why._

As I watch the orange streaks run down the blinding white of my uniform, I realize that I probably never will.

**Troy Kholer**

"You'd think that if these Capitol people were as great as they say they are, they'd at least have decent aim," I laugh to Asher while spinning a poorly thrown apple on the tip of my finger.

Once again, no response. I turn to Asher. From the way she stands, you wouldn't imagine we are where we are. Her feet slightly apart, her shoulders slumped and arms hanging loosely. Her face does not shift. She doesn't bat an eye when an object hits her or a green-faced freak screams her way. Her eyes are empty and unblinking. Even her thick, black hair doesn't seem to move, even though the wind from the chariot's speed is staggering. Her head is cocked to the side, but it doesn't wobble when we run over a stray item. She is positively statuesque. The only hint of life on her face is a dead-eyed smirk that makes my own, genuine smile falter.

I don't much get scared. Not even by being chained up at beaten by Capitol clowns. But if there's one person that could make even the most hardened spine shiver, it's Asher Bruman.

_**Two more chapters until the Games!**_

_**Voting resumes for this chapter, now that you've gotten a little taste for each character! You may not vote for your own character. Ten bonus points to your Tribute and your favorite if you give me an explanation for each of your votes!**_

_**1. 25 points**_

_**2. 20 points**_

_**3. 15 points**_

_**4. 10 points**_

_**5. 5 points**_


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